My Sherlock
by SupremeCommanderOfThisVessel
Summary: In which there's an unconventional family living at 221B. And someone loves Sherlock very much.


**_MY SHERLOCK_**

Neither in the jar of instant coffee nor inside his mother's teapot hidden behind a stack of pots in the cabinet under the sink. He couldn't find his Büchner filter anywhere and Sherlock snapped closed the kitchen drawers, irked. The sudden and sharp noise startled the kids in the living room and, for a moment, their game stopped. Timothy, the older child of mrs. Turner's married ones dropped the Lego tower he had just finished building and his sister Rose bursted into tears.  
Sherlock would have liked nothing more than close the glass door that separated the kitchen from the living room to shield himself from the snivellingof Rose but he knew he couldn't. John and Mary were upstairs enjoying one of the their few moments of intimacy and Sherlock had promised to both pay attention to the three baby humans.  
He heard Sheryl's sigh as she started to build ex novo the tower but he was quickly distracted having just remembered that he had putted the filter that he was looking for in the fridge. He was so absorbed in his experiment that Timothy's opinion almost escaped his notice.  
- I think that guy in the kitchen is crazy. - His sister chose that moment to stop crying and agree with his brother.  
- It's true. - Sherlock didn't need to look at her to know that she had paused to quickly suck her thumb - He seems a bit like Jeremy, the weirdo in our class. -  
Again the Lego tower fell to the ground. Most certainly Sheryl's fault.  
-He's not a weirdo. He's just different. -  
Sherlock couldn't help but stop and listen to them more carefully: Sheryl was only six years old, but when she took that tone to correct people she sounded exactly like her father, a perfect half way between Dr. Watson and John the soldier.  
John and Mary chose that moment to sneak into the kitchen. John busied himself with the kettle while Mary rested three cups on the only portion of the table that was clean and decontaminated.  
- You all right? - She smiled and stood on tiptoe to ruffle the sleuth's curls - Did the children bother you? -  
Sherlock replied with a unintelligible grunt.  
- Leave him alone, Mary. It's useless to try to engage him in a conversation when he's in one of his moods. -  
Sherlock turned to John to shush him and found himself face to face with the Watsons snogging like a couple of teenagers.  
Oxytocin increases the desire for physical contact and endorphins that simulates a false sense of peace and complete harmony. Typical post coital scenario. Deduced Sherlock and when John and Mary giggled, he silenced them with an icy - Shhh! -  
Watching the two Watson exchange effusions and tenderness wasn't anything new but it had always embarrassed him and anyway it was less interesting than the conversations in the living room. Conversation of which he had lost two lines because of the doctor and the nurse.  
- I still think he is a freak. -  
The children seemed to have lost interest in the Lego bricks and with a quick sidelong glance Sherlock was able to confirm it: on the carpet lay lots of tiny multi colored plastic constructions and the trio had moved near the detective's desk.  
- We can play with one of these! - Exclaimed Timothy dragged out from under the sofa Cluedo and Operation, both games more than thirty years old.  
- No, we can't. - replied Sheryl quietly. She pushed back the board games in their original position with both feet - Those are Sherlock's.  
- Why does he live with you anyway? - Asked Rose - Usually there are two parents, not three. -  
Sheryl smiled. Timothy began to roll around on the carpet.  
- He is not my father. He is my Sherlock.  
-And what does that mean? -  
The baby Watson threw herself on Timothy and Rose soon joined them trying to tickle both to the ground. Laughter rose from the living room and for a few minutes all serious conversations were forgotten at 221b.  
Sherlock accepted the steaming cup of tea by Mary and thanked her with a kiss on her cheek. John tried to engage him in conversation, but the detective was distracted and he didn't answer him.  
He is my Sherlock. A phrase of which he didn't know the true meaning, but it warmed his heart and made butterfly make a mess of his stomach.  
He sat behind his microscope and tried to busy himself with a slide of mould grown in the sink of 221c still his ears were focused on the children. Soon he was rewarded for his patience as Timothy again tonSheryl what she meant with he is mySherlock. Sherlock's attention attention was inexorably caught by Sheryl's answer.  
- It means that he's mine and mine alone. You have Teddy that protects you from the monsters that live under your bed, I have my Sherlock who tells me that monsters don't exist. I suppose he is a bit like a dad, only but much cooler. He makes me brush my teeth after eating and if I do not take the best grades in his favourite subjects that he sulks and pouts. But every night he reads me pirates stories before bed and when there is a storm or if I had a bad dream he lets me sleep in his bed. - She paused for a moment and Sherlock held his breath, anxious to listen more. - He lives with us because he's the most special human being in the world and because he is my best friend. Who cares if he isn't really my dad? -  
The children begun once again to play. An almost unnatural silence dropped in the kitchen broken only by Sherlock's heavy breathing. Feeling the eyes of both John and Mary on himself the detective tried to sham interest in the culture under the lens of his microscope. He adjusted the focus, picked up a new petri dish, but his hands were shaking and it fell to the ground. He cursed under his breath and his voice was even more unstable than his fingers.  
Mary wrapped him in a tight hug as he tried to hide with his hands the emotions showing on his face. John patted him on the shoulder before joining the children to try to convince them to change the game before someone gets hurt.  
Timothy and Rose's fathers arrived only ten minutes later and brought home their children. As soon as they were gone, Sheryl dashed into the kitchen. She climbed Sherlock's chair on the chair and sat down in Sherlock's lap as he tried to quickly dry eyes.  
- I don't want to play with them again - Said the little girl.  
- Why sweetheart? I thought you had fun.- Replied Mary.  
- Of course I didn't have fun! I'm bored to death! I don't understand why everyone is always so normal and dull. - She said - I've decided that when I grow up I want to marry Sherlock, because he is the only one not boring except you and Dad. What do you said Sherlock? Will you be my husband?-  
The detective looked startled for a moment and then looked at her with a gaze full of all the feelings usually reserved to Mary and John only: love, disbelief, happiness. He would have never expected to find a person able to tolerate him, let alone love him. And now he had three human beings desirous of his company. He didn't believe in God but he was sure this was a miracle  
- I would be honored. - He answered her.  
And he meant it with his whole heart.


End file.
